Observations, Critiques, Quotes, Quips — but no puns, I hate puns — from living in a cruel and savage place….

STAR T R E K Beyond Forever – a novel

15052016

P R O L O G UE

p a r t I : The Captains’ Summit

She knew she was Carol Marcus. Everything else was cotton, mud. She had to have been drugged, had to have been — she could feel it in the heaviness in her arms and in her legs, in the unusual taste in her mouth — but she couldn’t remember how and certainly had no idea why or by whom. But the sickly wooziness was lifting, replaced by an unpleasant growing sense of sleepy resignation. She fought it — she knew she was good for that — and memories flashed at her, some dim, others stark. And there was an awareness, too; certain of itself in aggravating fits and starts. They had been at the Ithian embassy, she was sure of that, on Gethsmeni….

They were members of the Starfleet contingent…. for the Governor’s Ball, the next to last night of the annual Starship Captains’ Summit. And she felt they had enjoyed themselves, too, enough for him to make bad jokes about it…. he always has a joke…. like his make believe annoyance at how easily she worked the room, that she was familiar with and introduced him to so many political elites and artists known to her through her sophisticate mother…. her mother…. that cool smile of disappointment at the choices Carol had made…. and the upper echelon of the Fleet, retired military noteworthies and explorers with historic pedigree — ancient Archer, Admiral Emeritus April, Garth of Izar, through experiences with her dad…. her late—

And she remembered getting him up to dance and that he was surprisingly adept and graceful — dashing, even, in her mother’s parlance — and, unsurprisingly full of self-deprecating nonsense and mischievous charm…. intimate charm…. with his damn diamond blue eyes, eyes ocean blue that could pierce her steely resolve, and his full lips, a mouth that so easily could break into a smile, a smile of encouragement for his crew, a come hither grin at her…. but eyes and a mouth that could quickly turn him hard with anger at an intractable adversary and, worse, at his own own human failings and doubts that she wanted to kick him as much as kiss him…. She’d done that once, kicked him then kissed him in a friendly fight….. early on…..

The gentle strength of his arm around her, when they were leaving the Americas Club on Xunan, after one too many drinks and that high spirited fight about— what had it been about? There was a sweet tentativeness, the way he ran a strong hand down her bare arm and slipped it ’round her waist, drawing her just a little closer…. He was going to find her — wherever she was, whatever had happened to her and she hated that she felt so weak and needed him but he was going to find her and pull her from the cotton and mud because there were other flashes of memory, lurid, overpowering, these were flashes of terror — abrupt, roiling terror….

Large bodied men, muscular brutes, pushing around her, pulling her, their skin made into shades of green flickering in the ornamental coloured torch lights’ vapours, bald heads, tight black top-knots, bodies of muscle pinched with brief black leather straps more for lewd decoration than fighting gear, revealing sinew and hard flesh, leering green faces. One of the men— Oh, God, no! No torchlight illusion, their skin was green. Not men, not human men…. Orions! My God, Slavers! — grabbed her! He locked a thick limb around her upper arms, pinning them easily, helplessly, to her sides as as he kicked out and thrashed and was jerked off her feet in her suddenly maddening high heeled boots. Carol sensed more than she saw the electric green whoosh of the Orion transporter beam as it swallowed her whole but she managed to cry out before the meaty hand off her captor clamped fast over her mouth— “JIM!” He would come for her.